Downward
by torchestogether
Summary: The descent into madness can be a long one. Shiloh must watch as Tate changes and becomes a different person. Love is supposed to conquer all, but can it withstand insanity and even death?
1. Chapter One: Meeting

**This is my first story for American Horror Story. Very regrettably, I do not own the character of Tate (much less any other AHS characters). This is based on his general character/story, but seeing as the show is still going on, I don't know how much it will follow towards the end. I do not know any more than you do, so I am just going to pretty much use the character itself instead of following the story exactly. Now, enough of the long disclaimer…**

**Chapter One: Meeting**

**November 1993**

The classroom was at the end of the hall; the only light at the end was feeble and fluttered on and off. It looked like I was walking into a dark abyss in a forgotten corner of the school. Or at least, that's what my teenaged brain saw it as. I had been dreading this day for weeks and it was finally here; nothing was going to make me see this change of schools as a good thing.

It wasn't like I had never been to a new school before. I had the drill down by now, but it never got any easier. I knew that no matter what school it was, it would only be filled with misery and humiliation just like the last. My father didn't give a shit; as long as I was in school and away from him, the school or even the state did not make a difference.

I took a deep breath before I put my hand out and opened the door. The mindless chatter of the other students spilled out into the empty hallway. Class had not officially started yet, but I was late enough not to slip in unnoticed. There was no way I could avoid the "New Girl" introduction this time.

I let the door close quietly behind me, but soon eyes began to make their way towards me. One by one, the voices stopped until the only sounds in the classroom were the clock and a lone pencil scratching some paper.

_Well, at least one person isn't paying attention_, I thought, bitterly.

I reluctantly dragged my feet over to the teacher's desk. An older woman in her sixties looked up at me from behind a sheet of paper. Her appearance was sharp; grey hair pulled so tightly into a bun it stretched her face painfully upwards. Her eyes were a steel grey colour and they were looking me up and down like I was something that should have been left outside.

"Ah, I see you must be the new student," she declared with distaste, "How nice of you to dress up on your first day of school."

Again, the eyes in the classroom burned right into my skin. I heard a couple of delighted giggles. Everyone was enjoying this little show already. The remark did not bother me in the slightest. In my mind, everyone else should feel awkward for spending so much time and money just to look exactly the same.

It was indeed a fact that I was not dressed like the other girls in the classroom. I had tight ripped jeans tucked into combat boots. My oversized, faded t-shirt hung over one shoulder. My long hair was left to its own devices; brown, wavy tendrils falling down my back to below my shoulders. I did not understand the close attention to clothing and fashion that girls my age had and it obviously showed.

"Where should I sit?" I said pointedly, deciding to ignore this hateful old hag.

Mrs. Caldwell, according to the tarnished nameplate on the desk, was not quite done getting under my skin though.

"Your name?" she added with a sneer.

_You know damn well what it is, bitch. It's on that sheet two inches away from your face_, I wished I could say.

"Shiloh Mackenzie," I replied in a monotone.

Caldwell made a huge deal of scanning down the sheet and checking it, "That seems to be correct."

I stared blankly back at her, not about to grant her any satisfaction in her harassment.

"You can take that seat there in the back," she said, a grin spreading over her face.

Behind me, a couple of snickers were not quite muffled in time. I turned and made my way down the aisle without as much as glancing into the faces of anyone. If sitting in the back of the classroom was supposed to be a punishment, then Caldwell had seriously misjudged me; it was exactly where I wanted to be.

I threw my bag down on the floor beside the empty desk and plopped down into the seat with a sigh. This day was already too long for my liking. I focused my eyes down on the grainy surface of the desk. Someone had carved a crude picture into the wood.

_ All high schools are exactly the same_, I rolled my eyes.

I straightened up with a start as a balled up piece of paper landed on my desk. Thinking it was just from one of the snobby girls sitting a few rows ahead of me, I immediately just brushed it off the desk. Seconds later, another one landed in its place. With an angry shake of my head, I smoothed out the paper on the desktop.

**That wasn't very nice of you to ignore me like that. I was trying to see if you wanted to get out of this hellhole instead of going to second period.**

**-P.S…I like the clothing choice. Caldwell's just jealous because its hard to find nice clothes when you have a stick up your ass.**

I had to hold back a small laugh. I glanced up and scanned the seats near mine. In the one a few feet beside me sat a boy who pushed back wavy blonde hair to look at me with dark, piercing eyes. He tilted his head to the side, asking for an answer.

I gave a quick nod. He smiled at me in an almost arrogant way and nodded back at me. I didn't know what I was getting myself in to, but it was better than spending another hour in this place.

The boy turned around and continued penciling something into a tattered notebook; seemingly totally oblivious to the lecture the teacher was going on about in a steady drone. With his back turned, it was safe to give him a quick evaluation. He was dressed in the same way I was; old jeans and a grey shirt under a long sleeved flannel. My first thought was Kurt Cobain lookalike, but I'd wait until I talked to him to label him as just another middle class kid pretending to be into grunge music.

Finally, after what seemed like at least forty hours, the bell rang and interrupted the teacher midsentence. Everyone immediately began shoving books into bags and getting up. I waited out the chaos until most of the people had bolted out the door before I stood up. By then, the boy was already out of the room. My stomach clenched in anger at the thought of being stood up within the first hour of class.

I roughly grabbed my bag and stomped out the door, running into a hard shape outside the door before I even saw where I was going.

"Where are you running off to? I thought we had an agreement," an amused voice said.

I looked up and into the eyes of the mysterious boy. He looked back at me intensely. I felt like he was seeing right into me and knew all of the insanity that was me; I could see it reflected back in his own eyes.

"Shiloh, right?" he asked, breaking the spell.

I nodded, "And who might you be?"

He gave me another smirk before grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the emergency exit, "I'm Tate Langdon."

**That's it for the first story. Let me know what you think. I know this one was a little slow, but I'm getting into it. It's hard when I don't know his backstory or anything, but I love this character, so I'm kind of winging it a little. Keep with me, I promise I have good things planned! **


	2. Chapter Two: Candles

**This is my first story for American Horror Story. Very regrettably, I do not own the character of Tate (much less any other AHS characters). This is based on his general character/story, but seeing as the show is still going on, I don't know how much it will follow towards the end. I do not know any more than you do, so I am just going to pretty much use the character itself instead of following the story exactly. Now, enough of the long disclaimer…**

**Chapter Two: Candles**

"Tate? What kind of name is that?" I asked, "Like Sharon Tate from the Manson murders?"

He let out a snorting laugh and shook his head, "Yeah, probably. That's my mother for you. I couldn't just get a nice, non-violent related name, I know. If you knew her, you wouldn't be surprised."

I waited for him to elaborate, but he just kept walking. We were now far away from the school. When most kids ditch class, they go hang out at a mall or arcade, but apparently this was not what Tate had in mind. We had been walking for at least a half an hour.

"Where are we going?" I finally blurted out.

He turned and gave me a maniacal smile, but didn't respond. He just quickened his pace even more. I had to almost jog to keep up with him. I was beginning to wonder if I had made a mistake coming with Tate at all. He was good looking; that was understatement. This whole silence thing was starting to make me wonder if his good looks were enough to have come out here alone with him without even knowing him.

We finally slowed down once we rounded a corner into a shady part of town. The buildings were all extremely run down and it looked as if a lot of them had not been in use for years. The few people that were on the streets were not the friendliest looking; most of them looked like hardcore drug addicts or people straight of the loony bin.

I was beginning to wonder exactly what Tate's intentions were. My thoughts began to race with horror movie montages and creepy music. I have an overactive imagination. Horror movies were my thing; I was always imagining I was in one and I liked it that way. Creepy things were my forte, but it was probably not good to get so excited when you're actually being led into a warehouse or alley. Either way, I liked the mystery of this little outing.

Tate stopped in front of a long, one-story building. The windows were boarded up and the paint had long since started peeling across the entire structure. The roof itself looked a little less than stable. "No Trespassing" signs were posted haphazardly the length of the building.

"What is this?" I asked, trying to find a sign or any indication of its purpose.

"This is where I come when I don't want to put up with those drones at school," Tate told me, brushing his messy hair out of his face.

Suddenly he looked a little nervous. Maybe he wasn't used to be around girls. Maybe he wasn't used to having friends. By the looks of the school, Tate (and myself) did not really fit in. Tate stood in front of me looking vulnerable all of a sudden; all previous cockiness was gone. My presence at Tate's little hide out might be infringing on his otherwise solitary life. I decided that I liked that idea. I was alone most of the time myself. I knew I would like to have just one other person on my side for once; maybe he felt the same.

He pushed the door open, a loud creak resounding throughout the obviously empty building. He stood back in the darkness of the room inside to let me come in. I hesitated for a moment on the threshold.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he told me in a small voice, "You don't have to come with me, if you don't want."

I shook my head, "Don't be ridiculous. But just remember, if you try anything, I've seen enough horror films to properly defend myself."

That seemed to lighten the mood a little bit and he let out a chuckle. I liked the sound of his laugh. It seemed like it was meant just for me.

_Wow, getting corny there, aren't you? _I thought.

It wasn't often that I let my guard down enough to even have corny thoughts. Most girls my age were ruled by their stupid little weeklong crushes. For me, it was always just easier to stay away. I was breaking my rules just talking to Tate.

I stepped into the building. Tate softly shut the door behind me. My sense of sight was rendered completely useless. The blackness was absolutely crushing. I couldn't see the slightest thing. The only thing that I could hear was Tate breathing somewhere to my right.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"It's pretty dark…" I trailed off.

"I won't let anything happen," Tate told me, finding my arm in the darkness and giving me a reassuring touch, "I know my way around here like it's my own bedroom. Wait here and I'll get us some light."

I stood very still, trying not to breath so that I could hear where he was going. I could hear Tate moving through the building. From the sound of it, we were in some kind of huge room. There was a slight echo and an emptiness that I could sense even without seeing it.

The sound of a match being lit resonated in the darkness. A small flame appeared a couple feet away from me. I could just make out Tate lighting a candle, but it still wasn't quite enough for me to see the entire room.

"Do you want help now?" I offered, stepping forward.

"No, no," Tate replied quickly, "Stay where you are. I don't want you to get hurt."

I was a little confused about how I would hurt myself in a huge empty room, but I stayed still. Tate took that candle and went around lighting dozens more around the room. Finally it began to become clear why he did not want me walking around.

"A pool?" I wondered aloud.

Tate came back over to me and stood grinning, "Yes, a pool. This used to be a popular spot, but then this part of town kept getting more and more rundown. They eventually just closed it up. I like to come here to be alone sometimes."

"And now I ruined it," I jokingly exclaimed.

"Now I'm going to have to kill you, I guess," he responded, coolly.

My laugh suddenly cut off. Silence once again filled the room. I eyed the boy in front of me suspiciously.

Tate let out a laugh that sounded even louder in the cavernous pool hall, "I wouldn't kill you. Relax a little bit."

We spent the next couple of hours talking. We didn't discuss anything very personal or serious; we just joked around and had fun. We sat with out legs over the side of the empty swimming pool. It was nice to finally let loose and have someone to talk to for once. I couldn't understand why Tate didn't seem to have any other friends at school.

Once the candles had almost burnt out, we left. Tate walked me back to my house, which was good because I probably would never have made it to my new neighbourhood on my own. When we finally stopped in front of my house, Tate waited and stared at me without talking for a long couple of seconds.

After what looked like an internal struggle, he finally asked, "Would you want to come to my house to hang out tomorrow instead of going to class?"

"Of course," I replied, not sure why that was such a hard question for him to ask.

He nodded, still looking a little unsure about himself, "I would like that. My mom should be gone for the day, so we won't have to worry about her causing trouble. I'll meet you outside of school and we'll go."

"Tell me where you live. I can just meet you there," I said.

"No," he exclaimed, "That's not a good idea. I'll just have to take you there myself."

**Please let me know what you think. Keep with me, I promise I have good things planned! **


	3. Chapter Three: Home Sweet Home

**This is my first story for American Horror Story. Very regrettably, I do not own the character of Tate (much less any other AHS characters). This is based on his general character/story, but seeing as the show is still going on, I don't know how much it will follow towards the end. I do not know any more than you do, so I am just going to pretty much use the character itself instead of following the story exactly. Now, enough of the long disclaimer…**

**Chapter Three: Home Sweet Home**

Seven thirty in the morning during November, even in some parts of California, is always chilly and unpleasant. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to conserve what little warmth I had under my thin long-sleeved tee. I stood under a tree right off to the side of the high school's campus. I had been waiting for Tate for about twenty minutes now; the last of the students were just starting to disappear into the front doors of the school.

"Come on already," I urged under my breath, steadily getting more and more impatient.

I was just about ready to head inside when I heard footsteps pounding down the pavement. I turned and saw Tate, disheveled and out of breathe, running towards me. He came to stop right in front of me, leaning forward to catch his breath. I waited for him too say something; too stubborn to give him attention after he made me wait so long.

"Sorry about that," he gasped, "I got here as soon as I could."

I eyed him up, my annoyance instantly dissipating. Tate seemed almost sickly. He looked like he had just woken up, thrown on some clothes, and bolted out the door. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked as pale as death.

Cautiously, I asked, "Are you okay? We don't have to do anything today."

"No, I'm fine," Tate quickly replied, "I just overslept. I've just been really tired lately."

I nodded slowly, "Are you sick?"

A shadowy look slipped over Tate's face. His eyes hardened ever so slightly. An anxious tightness appeared in his jaw. His hands clenched into fists by his sides. For a second, an uneasy chill went through me. He seemed _dangerous_. Before I could figure out what could have offended him, the darkness was gone and was replaced with a carefully guarded expression.

"I'm not sick," he said, obviously carefully controlling his tone.

"Good. I don't want the Plague," I joked, trying to get rid of the awkwardness between us.

Tate's eyes lightened and softened. He gave me one of his goofy smiles, which instantly put me at ease. One smile from him could completely turn my mood around. Any inclination that he might be threatening was completely erased at the sight of his boyish grin.

Motioning for me to follow him, we turned and walked back down the street the way he had come. Now that I was in his presence, the chilly morning air didn't bother me. Tate had a way of instantly putting me in a good mood. I felt like I belonged with him, which was more than I could say for anyone else my age. For me, school was usually eight hours of either being ignored or being taunted. It wasn't often that I found myself completely relaxed around another person.

After walking for a while, Tate slowed his pace dramatically. He seemed to be suddenly nervous. Our previous goofy conversation about Quentin Tarentino's craziness came to a halt. He started to drag his feet, obviously stalling for as long as he could.

I waited to see if he was going to say something. He waited a couple of minutes with a look of apprehension creeping onto his face. He looked like hanging out at his house was akin to murder. This was something I could understand; I would never bring anyone I know over to my house to see how I live.

"My house…" Tate started.

After a couple minutes of his hesitation, I jumped in, "We don't have to go there. I understand."

He shook his head, "Oh, you don't. Trust me you don't."

I stared back at him in confusion. I was debating whether or not to ask him to clarify; it was evidently a very touchy subject. He turned to look at me, uncertainty deep in his eyes.

Tate took a deep breath and continued, "My house is a little different. My mom is…incompetent to say the least. She's a bitch. She won't be home today though. She's out with another one of her many young boyfriends."

"Then what's the problem? She won't be there. It'll be a thousand times better than that hellhole of a school, right?" I tried to cheer him up.

"Yeah…" he trailed off, "Going to my house will be great…"

He turned and kept walking, leaving me to follow him more confused than ever. Tate was difficult to get a read on, that's for sure. I was left to wonder what could be so bad in his life that he would be scared to go home even with his mother gone. I hated my house just as much, but if my father was not there, I could pretend that I was normal at least for a little while.

After about a block, he stopped and turned towards a house. I followed his gaze up to a massive, brick Victorian house. There was a low wall that bordered the lawn. A tree made long shadows in the lawn. The house stood somehow darker than the rest of the houses on the block. The windows were dark and seemed to gaze upon us, looking foreboding. The house had a cold, unlived in feeling. The sight of it sent a chill up my spine; it was both evil and beautiful looking at the same time.

"This is it," Tate said, "Home sweet home."

I looked over at him. He was watching me closely, his eyes examining my own for something I could not fathom. There seemed to be something he was worried I would find out. He seemed to think that at any moment, I would take off and run. I wasn't sure what he was so worried about, but I had no intention of _not_ finding out. Tate, and this house in front of me, were mysteries that I felt compelled to figure out.

"Are we going in?" I teased, trying to convey to him that I wasn't going anywhere; I was ready to get to know him.

He nodded slowly, relaxing ever so slightly. I followed him up the walkway to the door. He paused for a second before pushing the front door open. It creaked, sending an echo down the front hall. I caught a glimpse of a staircase from behind Tate's figure.

Before I had a chance to step inside, a hand roughly grabbed my arm from behind. In shock, I stumbled a little on the front stoop. I fell backwards off the short ledge and landed hard on the cold concrete. I saw Tate turn around and his face turn into one of complete fury.

I didn't get a chance to even turn around to see who grabbed me before I heard:

"You're going to die in there."

**Please let me know what you think. Reviews are always very much appreciated! **


	4. Chapter Four: The Reveal

**This is my first story for American Horror Story. Very regrettably, I do not own the character of Tate (much less any other AHS characters). This is based on his general character/story, but seeing as the show is still going on, I don't know how much it will follow towards the end. I do not know any more than you do, so I am just going to pretty much use the character itself instead of following the story exactly. Now, enough of the long disclaimer…**

**Chapter Four: The Reveal**

"What are you doing?" Tate growled, "What have I told you about saying that to people?"

Tate rushed forward and grabbed my arm, pulling me gently back up to my feet. I brushed off my jeans and turned to face my attacker. It was a girl a little older than Tate and me. She had long dark hair pulled back in a hairband. Her most noticeable characteristic was not the fact that she had Downs Syndrome, but that she was smiling with an evil glint in her eye. The fact that she just condemned me to death obviously amused her greatly.

"I'm sorry, Tate," she told him, looking anything but apologetic.

Tate didn't seem to notice her lack of remorse. His previously furious face softened. He shook his head good-naturedly.

"Shiloh, this is Addie," he said, "She's my sister."

I pushed my suspicion aside and tried to let bygones be bygones. Tate was smiling at both of us like he thought we would instantly be friends. I told myself that she was just messing with me and that it didn't mean anything. I nodded towards her in greeting, trying to look as if I hadn't just been thrown on the ground and practically threatened.

"Sorry for making you fall," she said.

I slowly replied, "That's okay…"

Tate chuckled from behind me in the doorway, "That's her new thing lately. She keeps telling everyone that they're going to die before they come into the house. She terrified the mailman the other day. Now we have to go pick our mail up from the post office ourselves."

He had a joking tone to his voice, but there was something else underneath his lighthearted banter. It seemed like he was a little on edge by Addie's so-called prank. His nervousness boiled right under the surface. Tate was practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet with pent up energy.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes and stepped back inside, motioning for me to follow him. I finally entered the house, Addie tagging along behind me. She gave a small, sinister giggle (which Tate didn't seem to notice) and disappeared down the hallway.

I finally had a chance to look around at Tate's house. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. It was elegant; expensive furniture, handcrafted woodwork, and art that looked like it should be in a museum was everywhere I looked. It had an atmosphere that was fit for the wealthiest of people, yet felt like it was not lived in at all. It was cold and impersonal. There were no pictures on the wall of Tate or his sister. There was nothing to indicate what kind of people lived there or what the family was like at all.

Tate stood, watching me from in front of the staircase. He looked like he was watching a small child that might suddenly run out into the road. He was wary, but of what I didn't know.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" I asked when he didn't stop staring, "You're creeping me out."

A redness spread across his face. He seemed to realize he was neglecting his social skills by watching me instead.

"Most people won't even come in here," he told me, sounding mildly impressed.

I looked around once more, "Why not? I don't get it."

Tate looked like he was deciding how to explain. He opened his mouth a few times, but the words didn't seem to want to come out.

"Want to come up to my room?" he asked instead.

I scoffed, "Yeah, right. You're not getting out of it that easy. Tell me what you were going to say."

He took a deep breath and said, "Alright, alright. I guess it's just a matter of time before you find out anyway. Someone at school is bound to tell you to try to get you to stay away from me. Come upstairs and I'll tell you. I'm not supposed to let Addie know about it, even though I think she already does."

I followed Tate up the massive wooden staircase and down a carpeted hall. His room was the last one down the hallway. When he opened the door, I couldn't help but smile. His room was just as I had imagined it. There were posters strewn up on the walls of Nirvana, old mobster and Tarentino movies. Books where haphazardly thrown on a couple of shelves around his room. His room was definitely out of place in the formal, impersonal style of the rest of the house.

"Well?" I prompted him.

I plopped down on the foot of his bed, staring at him and urging him to continue. He paced back and forth along the length of the room for a couple of minutes before coming to a stop right in front of me.

"People call this the Murder House," he blurted out.

I sat for a couple of seconds in silence, waiting to see if this was a joke. His face was full of nothing but sincerity. He seemed to be telling the truth, which was obviously something he had been worried about telling me.

"The Murder House…?" I repeated back, "Someone was killed here?"

"Not just some_one_," he replied, "Lots of people. That was something the realtor conveniently forgot to mention to my parents when they bought the house. Every time someone else buys the house, someone dies. Sometimes more than one person. It's been going on since the first owners of the house died. The wife killed the husband, and then killed herself. Ever since, its been repeating itself over and over. It was built in the twenties, so you do the math."

I sat in shock. Seven decades of murderers took place in this house. It was a lot to process. Now I understood why the house seemed so cold; it was a place where so many wicked things had happened. I also understood why Tate was so nervous about bringing me here. It was a place that most kids must have stayed away from and told stories about over the years.

Tate must have taken my silence as horror because he quickly said, "You can leave if you want. You don't have to stay here."

"I'm not going anywhere. I told you that, didn't I?" I said, gently.

I didn't like how nervous he was that I was going to get up and run at any moment. I had finally found someone I liked to be around; I wasn't going to go anywhere, not even if there _was_ a Murder House involved.

He sighed in relief and threw himself down on the bed beside me. I could sense that a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.

"Where you really that worried?" I teased him.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, "Do you know how many people refuse to even talk to me? They think I'm just going to start murdering people since I live in this house."

I rolled my eyes, "Don't be so dramatic."

"I'm serious. People think I'm…I don't know…evil just for living here. My whole family is ignored in town because people keep wondering if one of us is going to snap."

Now I understood why he always thought I was going to take off. If anything though, it just made him more interesting. I was definitely interested in things that most people were scared of. This revelation of Tate's house shocked me for a second, but overall I wasn't phased enough to stop seeing him.

"Well, it doesn't bother me," I assured him, "You know, it's actually kind of cool in a fucked up way."

He looked up and grinned at me; once again back to the Tate I was starting to get to know. The light shined through the window at the head of his bed, making his dirty blond hair look illuminated and giving him a much more carefree appearance. He didn't look weighed down by the reputation of the murders.

"It is pretty cool, I guess. I found a bunch of stuff from the previous owners in the attic. Want to go see it?" he asked, excitement in his voice.

"You still have a lot to learn about me," I joked, "Of _course_ I want to see it."

"Get ready to be creeped out," he warned with an evil smirk.

**Please let me know what you think. Reviews are always very much appreciated (and usually get me excited to write more chapters)! **


	5. Chapter Five: Photographs

**This is my first story for American Horror Story. Very regrettably, I do not own the character of Tate (much less any other AHS characters). This is based on his general character/story, but seeing as the show is still going on, I don't know how much it will follow towards the end. I do not know any more than you do, so I am just going to pretty much use the character itself instead of following the story exactly. **

**Also, I apologize for not getting this one out sooner. I have one week left in this semester, so all my professors think we need more papers and work than ever. They obviously don't understand the need to write a Tate story…**

**Chapter Five: Photographs**

Tate pulled the attic door down; a tiny set of stairs folded themselves down to our feet. I looked up at the dark hole in the ceiling that led to the attic. It was pitch black. I turned towards Tate and smiled to let him know I still wanted to go up. He widened his eyes dramatically, looking beautifully deranged.

"You're not like other girls," he told me.

I crooked an eyebrow at him, "Are you complimenting me or insulting me?"

He put on a show of pretending to think, "Hmm…I'd say it was a compliment. Feel free to be insulted, if you want though."

I laughed and shook me head at him. I decided to show off a little and started to climb up the stairs. Almost instantly, before my foot even hit the second step, Tate put his hand gently on my lower back. I turned to look back at him, questioningly.

"I should go first," he said, glancing up at the darkness above me.

I chuckled, "I think I can handle it. I'm manly, according to you. Remember?"

Tate rolled his eyes, "It's not that. It's…well I just know where the light is, okay?"

"You're being chivalrous now, Tate?" I pestered.

"Oh, you know me. Maybe I'll fight a dragon for you later, if you're nice to me," he laughed.

All of a sudden, a silence fell on the two of us. He was looking at me with a deep intensity in his eyes. We had only known each other for two days, but already I was feeling a connection with him that I had never felt with anyone. I was rocketed into being close to someone, which was something I had avoided like the Plague in the past. Instead of feeling like the awkward mess I had always imagined, I felt a sense of comfort in this. I finally felt like I had someone who I fit with, who understood me.

"So..." he broke out of the stare, "The attic?"

I cleared my throat, awkwardly, "Right. The attic."

I stepped down to let him pass. His hand slid slowly off my back, sending a chill through my body. I watched as he climbed up the stairs in front of me, disappearing into the darkness. I heard him shuffle around for a few minutes before a dim light turned on, sending a soft glow down through the opening.

I scrambled up the stairs and into the attic. It smelled as old as the house looked. A musty scent burned my nose and my eyes could instantly feel the dust that was layered over everything, swirling into the air at the slightest bit of movement. Trunks and boxes filled the majority of the room. Slivers of light filtered in around the newspaper that covered the windows. The floorboards were uneven and creaked as I walked across them over to Tate.

He was kneeling beside a little hole in the wall. It looked like he had pulled one of the boards off the wall. Behind the cobwebs and crumbling plaster, there was a little hiding spot. Tate reached his hand in and pulled out a small box.

"I hid these up here. I didn't want my mother or Addie to find them," he announced.

"Why?" I asked, "What's the big deal?"

Tate handed the box to me, "My mother would just think I'm encouraging Addie to tell people they're going to die. She says I'm morbid. My mother likes everything to be exactly how she wants it to be; there's no room for stories or fun unless its what _she_ wants."

"She sounds lovely," I replied, sarcasm heavy in my voice.

Tate rolled his eyes and muttered, "You have no idea."

I pulled the lid off the old, dusty box and set it gently on the floor. The box was filled with tons of photographs. The photographs were yellowed and the edges on a lot of them were torn or crinkled, but the images still had a haunting quality to them. Most of the portraits were of people; they were families of formal looking people who were posed rigidly before a camera.

I sat down on the floor beside Tate, entranced by the photographs in front of me. I could feel Tate looking over my shoulder, his breath on the side of my face. I subconsciously leaned back towards him.

"Do you know anything about these people?" I asked.

"Yeah, let me see?" he held his hand out.

I gave him the pictures and he immediately flipped through them to a certain one. He moved closer to me, holding it out for me to see. His knee brushed mine and he made no movement to fix it. The contact sent spirals of chills through my body. It was just the two of us up in the attic, our own little world.

The picture was of a man and a woman holding a little baby in a white gown. It looked like it had been taken in the twenties, based on the woman's clothing. They looked tense, like they didn't want to be in the same room together.

"This is the Montgomery family. Nora and Charles were the ones who built the house. Supposedly Nora was a real bitch, but Charles wasn't much better. He was a doctor who performed some…illegal…procedures for women in the basement. Neighbours said they could hear Nora screaming at her husband every night," Tate told the story like he had been there.

I desperately wanted him to continue, "What happened to them?"

"Someone found out about the surgeries," he said in a hushed voice, "The police said it was the boyfriend of one of the patients. He wanted revenge for the death of his unborn child. The Montgomery baby was kidnapped in the middle of the night. Nora blamed Charles, of course. Eventually the baby was returned…"

"What happened?" I pressed, realizing that the end of the story must be bad.

"The baby was dead. It was murdered. They had cut up the baby and sent it back to them in jars. Nora was devastated. She was never the same after that. She was broken. Charles, on the other hand, saw an opportunity. You see, he liked to experiment. All the drugs he was taking had been making him steadily more and more crazy over the years, sadistic even. He tried to bring the baby back to life. He used…spare parts," Tate trailed off.

"Spare parts?" I echoed back, confused.

Tate nodded, grimly, "He had saved body parts from the operations. He used them to make a new baby. Some people say he used a heart from one of the fetuses. It was still beating when he took it."

"What a crazy fuck," I mumbled, shocked.

"It worked," he stated.

"What?" I scoffed, "That wouldn't work. Bullshit."

"I know," he shrugged, "It _is_ bullshit. But it still worked. He gave the baby back to Nora. It wasn't a normal baby anymore; it had a taste for blood. Nora saw it for what it was: a monster. She tried to kill it, but it wasn't human. Nora did the only thing possible. She killed her husband so that he could never do anything like that again. Nora then took the gun and killed herself."

"And the baby?" I prompted.

"Still in the house somewhere, I guess. No one knows," Tate replied.

I sat in silence for a couple of minutes, trying to process the unbelievable story. The images from the story, combined with the photographs, floated through my mind.

"How would you know this anyway? I doubt the library has a book on a monster baby created by a mad doctor," I tried to joke, but something just didn't sit right; the story was too detailed.

Tate looked me straight in the eye and said, "Nora told me."

**Please let me know what you think. Reviews are always very much appreciated (and usually get me excited to write more chapters)! **


	6. Chapter Six: Boundaries

**This is my first story for American Horror Story. Very regrettably, I do not own the character of Tate (much less any other AHS characters). This is based on his general character/story, but seeing as the show is still going on, I don't know how much it will follow towards the end. I do not know any more than you do, so I am just going to pretty much use the character itself instead of following the story exactly. **

**Also, I apologize for not getting this one out sooner. I have had the absolute worst case of writer's block ever. Seriously. I was in a serious funk for a long time. I hope my more frequent updates will make up for it.**

**Chapter Six: Boundaries **

I stared blankly back at Tate, emotions somewhere between anger, annoyance, and curiosity. He was looking at me with a hopeful look on his face that I didn't quite understand. There was a lot that I didn't understand about Tate and reading him successfully was sometimes one of those things. I thought for sure he was fucking with me, but after his speech downstairs and relief at my belief in it, I wasn't so convinced. I was conflicted.

"Shiloh?" Tate prodded.

I carefully repeated, "Nora told you this?"

He nodded, "Yeah, she did."

"Nora's granddaughter?" I tried to clarify.

Tate furrowed his brow, looking frustrated. He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it even more. His jaw tensed and he avoided my gaze. He began to look increasingly distressed, so I decided to butt in before he got upset.

"Tate, calm the fuck down," I blurted, "I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. No need to go totally mental on me."

A dangerous flash flitted across his face at the mention of "going mental," but he managed to get control of his expression quickly. He took a deep breath to calm himself down before continuing.

"It was not her granddaughter. Her only child was a boy and he was cut into tiny pieces, remember?" Tate spat, "_Nora_ told me."

I rolled my eyes at his tone. His dramatic ways didn't bother me one bit; I could handle the crazy things he did.

"Relax, please. You don't need to be an ass," I scolded, "I just wanted to make sure you weren't messing with me. I told you already, I believe you."

"I'm sorry for being a dick. I wouldn't lie to you though," he told me, giving me his signature haunting gaze.

Somehow, I immediately believed him; he really would never lie to me. I never felt such trust for another person as I did for him.

"I know," I replied, gently.

I couldn't bring myself to look away. His expression was soft, yet intense. I felt like he and I were the only people in the world. I wanted to look into his deep, brown eyes forever.

I was _never_ this corny, so that in itself had to mean something.

Tate leaned forward ever so slightly; almost closing the short distance between us. My breath caught in my throat. I could feel the warmth radiating off of his body. The attic suddenly felt like it was a hundred degrees hotter. In the silence, all I could hear was our combined breathing.

I closed my eyes and leaned closer to him, expecting the uncharacteristically romantic vision in my mind to occur. After a couple of seconds, I opened my eyes only to find Tate sitting back and away from me.

I sighed, "What's wrong? Did I do something?"

"No," he told me, his voice strained, "I just…I don't think you should get involved me. I want to, but…"

"That's bullshit," I interrupted, " I know you feel the same way I do. Stop with the brooding crap."

Tate almost cracked a smile, "Shut up. I just don't want you to have to deal with my problems. I don't want to deal with them myself."

I waved my hand in front of me in dismissal, "I can handle your mom."

He snorted, "Oh, really? I don't think anyone can handle my mother."

Tate seemed to relax a little bit, so I took a bit of breath myself. As intrigued as I was by him, he did have a habit of making me tense. I trusted him completely, but even I could not predict his reactions to things. I liked that about him though; it felt like a mystery meant just for me to unravel.

"So, Nora told you all of this. Okay, I believe you. What happened then?" I questioned him, scooting over towards him and testing his boundaries.

"What do you mean?" he asked, letting me lean against him.

He sat back against the wall and pulled me closer to him. Laying my head against his shoulder, I felt more content and at home than ever before. That was not a feeling I got very often in my life.

"I mean, has Nora talked to you since then?" I questioned.

He paused for a second, "Yeah. Sometimes. She's pretty nice actually."

"What do you guys talk about?" I asked as he laced his hand with mine, electricity shooting through my body.

His next words sent a chill down my spine, "She tells me about all the other people trapped in this house."

**Please let me know what you think. Reviews are always very much appreciated (and usually get me excited to write more chapters)! I promise I'll try to get the next one out soon. I know I've been terrible at writing, but I think I've got it back now. I'll do my best; just be patient!**


	7. Chapter Seven: Visitor

**This is my first story for American Horror Story. Very regrettably, I do not own the character of Tate (much less any other AHS characters). This is based on his general character/story. I am just going to pretty much use the character itself instead of following the story exactly. **

**Chapter Seven: Visitor **

I laid on my bed, looking up at the ceiling and counting the cracks in the plaster. I had to process everything that Tate had told me. I never really thought about ghosts or the paranormal before I met him. I had always thought of myself as a skeptic in that kind of stuff, but now I was giving it a second thought.

I believed that what Tate said was true. There was something about the way he described everything and the emotion behind the stories. It seemed like he really _knew_ these people. He had even showed me more pictures of the previous owners.

I hadn't even wanted to come home. I wanted to stay with Tate, but it had gotten late a lot faster than we had expected. It wouldn't have been a good idea for me to be there when his mother got home, so I made a quick exit. Now though, I was finding it difficult to keep myself from climbing out my window and making my way across the dark streets to his house.

My mind was racing too fast for me to even begin to fall asleep. At this rate, I wasn't sure how I was going to be able to wake up for school in the morning. My thoughts began to drift towards daydreams of Tate and our new, more pronounced closeness. I really thought I was getting somewhere with him; he seemed to be opening up more. I never let myself get this close to someone, so it was all new to me.

A tap quietly sounded through the silence of my dark room. I went rigid for a second, completely startled out of my thoughts. I wasn't used to having visitors. It had been a long time since I had even had a friend come over through the front door, let alone anyone come to see me in the middle of the night.

My brain sped up and realized what was happening. I bolted out of bed and went right over to the window. I didn't give a shit about fixing my hair or the fact that my pajamas consisted of old shorts and a holey t-shirt.

Tate stood outside my first-floor window. It had been lightly raining, so his hair was dripping and stuck to his forehead. I quickly opened the window, trying to minimize the squeak of the old window frame.

I leaned my head out and whispered, "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you," he replied.

"If you want to come in, you have to be quiet. My jackass father is downstairs passed out with a couple of beers. If he wakes up…" I trailed off.

Tate shook his head, "That's okay. I can't stay long anyway. Addie always somehow knows when I leave the house and if I don't come back quick enough, she'll get me in trouble. I don't feel like dealing with my mother today."

"I told you, I could take her in a fight for you," I joked.

He let a little chuckle and looked me in the eyes. The eye contact sent a jolt down my spine and all my thoughts went right out of my mind. Everything in that moment, my shitty family and the stress of a new school, all stopped mattering. Everything was okay right in that moment.

I shook myself to snap myself out of it, "So what did you want? You didn't walk all the way over here to stare at me in the rain. This isn't a lame-ass eighties movie."

"You wish you were Molly Ringwald," he teased back.

I made a move like I was going to shut the window. He put his hand under it to stop it, laughing quietly.

"I wish I didn't have to leave," he told me.

I nodded, "I do too."

He leaned through the window, sticking his head into my room. I leaned in to close the distance, looking into his brown eyes. I could smell the rain on his hair. He closed the distance between us, touching his lips softly to mine. The warmth tickled my skin.

It only last a few seconds before he pulled away, looking flustered. Both of us were breathing hard.

"That's not what I came here for. I shouldn't have done that," he stammered, running his hand through his hair.

"Shut up," I said, annoyed, "I liked it and you're not allowed to ruin it."

He took a deep breath and looked up at me through his long eyelashes, "Fair enough. Well…uhh…I did actually come here to tell you something. Nora said she would talk to you. In person."

Those words brought me right out of my cliché girl stupor, "What?"

"Yeah, she wants to talk to you," he repeated, "Is that too weird?"

"No, not at all. That kicks ass. When?" I asked.

"Tomorrow after school. She said it has to be in the basement though. I'm not sure why though. She wouldn't tell me," he replied, shrugging.

"I'll be there. I'll meet you after school again," I told him.

"Awesome," he smiled.

I thought he was going to turn around again, but instead he leaned back in and gave me another quick kiss. Before I knew what had even happened, he was gone. I slowly shut the window and went back to my bed, my head spinning.

I definitely was not going to be getting any sleep tonight.

**Please let me know what you think. Reviews are always very much appreciated (and usually get me excited to write more chapters)! I promise I'll try to get the next one out soon. I know I've been terrible at writing, but I think I've got it back now. I'll do my best; just be patient!**


	8. Chapter Eight: Frustration

**Very regrettably, I do not own the character of Tate (much less any other AHS characters). This is based on his general character/story. I am just going to pretty much use the character itself instead of following the story exactly. **

**Chapter Eight: Frustration**

The wind whipped by with a howl. It seemed like a storm was kicking up, but it hadn't yet reached us. My hair flew around my face, obscuring my view as I scanned the front of the school for Tate. I was supposed to meet him here to go to his house to talk to Nora.

Once again, he was late. It seemed like that was a habit of his. I impatiently drummed my fingers against the strap of my messenger bag. I was contemplating leaving to avoid getting drenched in the impending downpour, but I knew Tate would be pissed. As much as it amused me to bother him, I also didn't want to upset the new phase we had started last night.

I finally spotted Tate coming out of the front doors of the school. He threw the door open violently, scowling. He stormed over to me, eyes narrowed and almost clouded over with what seemed to be rage. He grabbed me by the wrist and wrenched me around, dragging me along behind him.

"Hey, what the hell?!" I protested, trying to pull myself free, "What the fuck are you doing?"

He ignored me and kept walking. The tight grip he was keeping on my wrist was beginning to ache. I tried to plant my feet to stop myself, but it didn't seem to have any effect.

"Tate, stop it. You're hurting me," I demanded.

Immediately, he let go and stopped walking. He turned to me, the dark look gone from his face. It was replaced with one of guilt and shock. His eyes were wide and scared looking, a stark contrast from the cold harshness of a couple of minutes ago.

He took my hand gently in his and ran his cool fingers over my wrist. The skin was already turning red where he had grabbed me. He seemed flustered.

"What was that?" I asked, anger making its way into my voice.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I really didn't. You're going to hate me now."

"Just tell me what's going on," I said.

"I never meant to hurt you," he told me, still looking at the red marks on my wrist.

I pulled my wrist away from him, "Tate, stop. Just don't do that again. That's not okay. What happened back there?"

He rolled his eyes. A bit of the darkness from earlier made its way back onto his face, but it seemed like he kept it in check this time.

"Just those assholes at school," he replied in a low voice, "I'm just sick of their shit, that's all. Everyone there is so arrogant. They think they're so much better than everyone else. Someone needs to knock them off their pedestals."

I sighed, knowing exactly what he meant. I had spent my entire life hating the other kids at school. I had never fit in with what they wanted, so I was always an outsider. I was made to feel like I was alone for my entire life, but that wasn't the case anymore.

"Fuck them," I told him, pulling him into a hug, "It doesn't matter. It won't be long before we're done with this shithole. We can go anywhere we want. Anywhere in the world."

He seemed to relax and returned the hug tightly. I could feel him bury his face into my hair and take a deep breath.

Keeping my head tucked under his chin, I told him, "I don't want to see you that angry anymore, okay? Its not worth it. I'll beat up those assholes if you want me to, you know."

He chuckled and nodded, pulling away. Tate took my hand very gently this time and we made our way back to his house. The entire walk was calm and I felt more content to just walk with him than I had ever felt before.

When we finally made our way into his house, I felt a thrill of excitement at the idea of what was going to happen. I was going to talk to Nora, a ghost who had died in the house years and years ago. I tightened my grip on Tate's hand ever so slightly, suddenly getting a little bit nervous, but I knew he wouldn't let anything happen to me.

He opened the basement door. The smell of cold, dank air was overpowering. It did not seem like a place I wanted to go, but I followed Tate down the wooden staircase into the blackness. Once at the bottom of the stairs, he pulled the cord on a light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

The light cast a yellowish light across the small room. There were a few shelves with some boxes on them, but it looked like no one really used the basement. The air was frigid, so I moved closer to Tate for warmth. He put his arms around me from behind, making me feel slightly better.

"Just wait a second," he whispered in my ear, "She promised she'd be here. It just might take her a few minutes to know we're down here."

I nodded, unable to think of what to say that didn't make me sound like a scared little girl. My eyes darted around the room in search for any type of movement. The silence made the sound of my own heartbeat echo in my ears.

"Hello, Shiloh. Tate's told me a lot about you," a woman's voice said from behind me.

**Please let me know what you think. Reviews are always very much appreciated (and usually get me excited to write more chapters)! I promise I'll try to get the next one out soon. I know I've been terrible at writing, but I think I've got it back now. I'll do my best; just be patient!**


	9. Chapter Nine: Confusion

**Chapter Nine: Confusion**

**I am so sorry that it has been so long since my last update. I have had the worst case of writer's block ever and just couldn't make any progress on it. I know this one is relatively short, but I just wanted to get you guys something new out to get us started back into the updates. Hope you like it!**

I spun around, my heart leaping up into my throat. I heard a laugh behind me, which allowed me to relax slightly. Tate came to my field of vision and I could see him shaking his head. My eyes darted back to the woman in front of me.

She was beautiful. Her light blonde hair was artfully pinned up in a way that was old fashioned, but also extremely classy. She was dressed in a flowing dress with a delicate shawl thrown over her shoulders. The woman was giving me a smile as she looked me up and down. I felt like I was being examined as I studied her right back. She didn't look like what I imagined a ghost would look like; she looked as alive as anyone and I felt a nagging doubt in the back of my mind in regards to Tate's story.

"Hello," I managed to choke out after a few minutes of silence, leading Tate to chuckle again.

"Oh dear, I didn't mean to frighten you," she told me, "I'm Nora. Tate has just told me so much about you and I was excited to finally meet you. I didn't mean to startle you. I seem to be rusty on my manners these days."

She stepped up to me and wrapped her arms around me into a hug. I froze for a few seconds in shock before allowing myself to hug her back. My brain was in shock. So Tate _had_ been lying to me? Why? What was the point of his story?

When she pulled away from me, I was struggling to hide my conflicted emotions that I knew were evident on my face. Obviously if he had been telling the truth about this woman, she should not be able to touch me. I looked suspiciously towards Tate, my eyebrows knitted together in irritation. He had that signature smirk on his face like he was in on some game that I didn't know about yet.

"What's going on?" I asked, the annoyance obvious in my voice, "Why did you tell me all of that stuff? Just for a laugh?"

He opened his mouth, but then closed it again as he struggle to come up with the words. I rolled my eyes and took a step towards the stairs.

"It was nice meeting you, ma'am. I'm sorry, but I think I actually need to go," I said.

I quickly raced back up the stairs and out the front door before I took another breath. I knew under normal circumstances, my exit would have been rude, but Tate was lucky I didn't throttle him right there in front of her instead. I let the anger course through my body as I ran down the street and back to my house. The running helped to cool down my thoughts a little by the time I got home.

After all of our talks and the understanding that I felt we had shared in the past couple of days, how could he have made up something as ridiculous as that and then expect me to go along with it when it was obviously not true? How gullible did he think I was when he took me down into that basement to confront one of these "ghosts?" I couldn't wrap my head around his motives for any of it. Was this all just a game to play on the new girl? Or did he actually believe these things he had told me?

I wasn't sure what was worse. Either option hurt. I had either been betrayed or I had started to fall for someone with some serious issues. I couldn't think of any explanation that didn't end in getting my heart broken.

I thought back to our kiss. It had been so sweet, so perfect. I touched my fingers to my lips, sighing. I threw myself down onto my bed and stared up at the ceiling. My stomach twisted itself into knots as I tried to force the memory of the kiss out of my mind. I knew I shouldn't have let myself get so attached to someone, especially after such a short amount of time. I never had any luck with friends or relationships, so I should have expected this. I should never have left myself be vulnerable. The image of Tate smirking at me when I was in the basement earlier flashed before my eyes. I had fallen for his trap so easily. I bet he was laughing it up back at his house right now.

I squeezed my eyes shut tight and rolled over onto my stomach. I desperately tried to ignore the hot tears that soaked the pillow under my face as I vowed that this would be the only time I would allow myself to feel this pain before I made sure that I would never let myself be susceptible to that again.


End file.
